


ruin and rehabilitation

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: 10 years later, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post P5 vanilla, Post-Game, TW: Suicide Attempts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 13,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24406504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: Can the rehabilitation of Akechi Goro truly be considered complete, when such ruin lies within his heart?or: It takes a Trickster to untangle a knot.TW: Suicide attemptsNo P5 Royal spoilers, but lots of vanilla P5 spoilers.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 169
Kudos: 414





	1. Chapter 1

_ On Goro Akechi’s twenty-ninth birthday, he arranges four items before him on the coffee table in the center of his austere apartment.  _

_ On the left, an exquisitely frosted cupcake from an upscale bakery sits half eaten, adorned by a single candle. In the center, the menacing shapes of a pistol and a silencer, gleaming darkly against the white table. On the right, his will, which he updates every year on the day before his birthday.  _

_ He screws the silencer on the gun with practiced motions. It's the kind of gesture he’ll probably always remember how to do, even though it’s been a long time since he had any literal blood on his hands. The metaphorical kind, however, never seems to wash clean.  _

_ He straightens the will so that the paper is parallel to the clean lines of the table, pushes the cupcake back from the edge, and raises the gun until the silencer kisses his temple.  _

_ “Loki,” he whispers. “This time...just let it be.”  _

_ It’s the closest Goro has ever come to begging for mercy.  _


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the trigger he pulled just a few hours before, Goro’s not surprised when he wakes on the couch in the darkness just before dawn. It always goes this way—he puts the gun to his head, or the knife to his wrists, or his back flat against the railroad tracks. Death approaches, the beckoning comfort of non-existence. But just before he can embrace it, he hears Loki’s laughter. Then everything goes dark, until he finds himself slumped against the bathroom cabinets with bandaged arms, or collapsed in a heap safely by the side of the tracks, or on the floor next to the sofa, with a headache but no bloody wound.

He doesn’t bother crawling into bed. He’s always up early anyway. He sleeps the uneasy sleep of a guilty man, and opens his eyes at five every morning, rain or shine, sun or dark. He jogs several miles through the empty sidewalks, then returns to his cold, impersonal apartment to shower, eat breakfast, and answer emails until it’s time to go into the office. 

He’s at his desk by seven, the corner office on the forty-seventh floor with a stunning view of Tokyo. It’s nice enough. Everyone who works with him is exceedingly deferential, because despite being the youngest partner, he’s the highest earner, the most cutthroat of the lawyers in their stable. He specializes in corporate law, where the stakes are high and the payouts are even higher. It’s made him a very wealthy man, but neither victory nor wealth have brought him happiness. 

Usually he’s at his desk well into the night, but today is a Tuesday, and on Tuesdays he always leaves exactly at seven, so he can be strolling down a backstreet in Shibuya at eight, dusk falling comfortably around him and the air warm and humid with the weight of summer. Ahead of him, he hears the laughter of teenage boys, the clatter of a basketball hitting the backboard. 

He lingers just past the edge of the court—as close as he dares—and watches the figures dribble and pass and jump in the growing darkness. The street lights flash off of Akira’s glasses as he leaps up for a slam dunk, every bit as acrobatic as he was as a Phantom Thief. 

The teenagers around him cheer. They’re jostling for his attention but they do it companionably enough. They’re all involved in the justice system in some way or another, but not a single one of them looks like a criminal right now, as they move fluidly with Akira’s commands, a cohesive team. 

_ Just like old times.  _

The first time Goro walked past this basketball court and heard Akira’s voice, he thought he was hallucinating. He had wanted to run, but couldn’t bring himself to leave. That was several months ago, and although he knows it’s foolishness and nothing more, he keeps coming back, and back. 

It always comes back to Akira, who now works as a counselor for a nonprofit that serves youth who have been incarcerated or are on probation. Of course he does. Akira believed that anyone could be saved, and what a fool he is and always was. 

He’s tall and lanky as ever, long legs traversing the length of the basketball court easily. His laugh is low and dark and sweet, just as Goro remembers. He doesn’t dare get close enough to try and make out the color of Akira’s eyes, to see if they are still the gray of a storm beginning to gather. 

Goro lingers until the temptation to call out to Akira becomes unbearable, and then he hurries back to his empty home, head bowed as it starts to rain. 


	3. Chapter 3

Akira stands uneasily in the lobby of the fancy legal office. Everything is mahogany and red velvet, expensive and tasteful. His fingers itch to steal something. 

_ “This is creepy, even for you,” he told Kawakami before setting out. “If this donor doesn’t want to be contacted, we should leave him alone.”  _

Despite his protests, here he is. Looking down at Shibuya from forty seven stories up, in a reception area so ritzy the secretary made him an espresso to drink while he waits for G. Saito, the enigmatic lawyer who donated enough money to the group home where Akira works that Kawakami, the administrator, sent him to investigate the possibility of regular contributions. 

Saito had not wanted any acknowledgment, and had in fact donated through an intermediary so as to stay anonymous. But between Kawakami and Iwai, they’d tracked him down, and then jointly decided that Akira be the one to actually try and talk to the guy. 

“This coffee is amazing,” Akira says, leaning on the secretary’s desk and giving her his most winning smile. “And I know coffee. I used to work at a cafe.” 

“Oh.” She giggles. “Thank you. Most of the lawyers drink it so fast they don’t even taste it. They just want the caffeine.” 

“What can you tell me about Saito-san?” Akira asks. 

She glances anxiously at him, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Oh. I can’t talk about the staff.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Akira says. “I work for a charity. We take care of kids who don’t have anyone else to help them.” 

He doesn’t add that all the kids are delinquents—he always uses the word fondly, thinking back to his own high school days—who’ve been on the wrong side of the law. Their offenses are usually minor, and often unjust, and deep down all of them have good hearts. 

But Akira’s working an angle here, and if the secretary wants to picture cute little orphans, she certainly can. 

“Saito-san made a very large donation,” he says. “I just want to thank him in person.” 

“He did?” Her face is the perfect picture of shock. “You must be mistaken. I’ve never met anyone with a heart as cold as—”

“As mine?” 

That voice. As clear and cool as his memory has ever played it. Akira has to quickly set down the cup of espresso, which is rattling around in its saucer. 

“Akechi,” he whispers. “I thought you were…” 

“Gone. Yes, I know.” Akechi regards him carefully, almost analytically. He looks so different now, tall and lean with gaunt cheekbones and no trace of kindness in his eyes. When playing the Detective Prince, he had been sweet, charming, a little befuddled. Harmless and nonthreatening. 

But it seems he’s finally set the sheep’s clothing aside, and the gleam in his gaze is the cunning of a wolf. 

“Can we talk?” Akira asks. 

“Not here.” Akechi crosses his arms. He’s wearing a white shirt and a red tie, and somehow it reminds Akira of Robin Hood. “Not right now.” 

“When?” Akira is loath to let Akechi out of his sight, after all this time, all the years he spent mourning and wondering if he could have saved his friend, if only he’d been a little faster, a little stronger. If only he’d possessed greater kindness and transcendental proficiency with his gun. 

“Later,” Akechi says. His posture is severe, all stark straight lines, but Akira doesn't miss the way his fingertips tremble.

“I missed you,” Akira says, and is rewarded by a shuttered glance. 

“You always lacked an instinct for self-preservation,” Akechi says. “Leave.” 

Beside Akira, the secretary breathes in a sharp gasp. Akechi doesn’t seem to notice her, as he turns smartly on his heel and disappears down the hallway he came from. 

“I’m so sorry about him,” the secretary says, her pitying eyes lingering on Akira. “He’s always like that.” 

“He’s changed,” Akira says. “But I guess we all have. Thanks for letting me in. I’ll see you next time.”

“Next time?” 

Akira grins at her, showing his teeth. “Do you really think I’d give up that easily?” 


	4. Chapter 4

_ I missed you.  _

Goro turns the gun over in his hands and wonders what Akira meant by that. Was it a taunt, a jab at Goro’s failure to kill him? A reminder that after all was said and done, Akira was the victor, the hero, the beloved, and Goro still the same scum he had always been? 

It could not be what it seemed. People were not simple, they were not honest. They did not say to a would-be murderer:  _ I missed you.  _

Likely no one has ever missed Goro, not once in his entire miserable life. 

He sighs, tucking the gun out of sight in the drawer of his side table. What is he going to do—shoot Akira? The time for that was long past; it would bring him nothing now, not even satisfaction. 

A knock sounds on his door, firm but not overly loud. He gets up to answer it, expecting a package delivery, and instead finds—

_ Akira _ . 

With a sly smile, he slips into the apartment before Goro can slam the door in his face. 

“Hey,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall just inside the entryway. “Long time no see, Akechi-kun.” 

Goro shuts the door carefully. It has been a long time since anyone called him by that name. Akira must have followed him home, something he would have prevented except it hadn’t occurred to him Akira would be at all eager to see him. 

“What do you want, Kurusu?” 

“I...don’t know,” Akira says softly, his confidence evaporating. He toys with a strand of his hair, glancing away from Goro’s face. “I just wanted to see you.”

Goro spreads his arms with a wry twist to his lips. “Here I am.” 

To his utter shock, tears well up in Akira’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Akira mutters, blinking them away. “It’s just. I thought you were dead. It’s kind of a lot, just to see you again.” 

Goro nods. After all, he understands what it is to see a revenant, returned from the dead. Joker, trapezing through Shido’s Palace like a kid through an amusement park, when only weeks before, Goro had put a gun to his skull and pulled the trigger.

After that first glimpse of Joker, safe and strong and very much  _ alive _ , Goro had crawled under a table in the nearest safe room, his knees drawn to his chest, and sobbed with bitter relief and a harrowing fury that left him feeling empty and charred. 

“Kawakami—she’s the director of our nonprofit—she sent me to track down the guy who donated ten million yen.” Akira laughs softly. “I had no idea it would be you. I, uh...thanks. I really mean it. You have no idea what that support means to us, to the kids.” 

Goro shrugs uncomfortably. Akira’s warm regard makes his skin heat in a way that isn’t unpleasant, but should be. 

“What else am I going to do with my money?” he says dismissively. 

“You’re so different,” Akira murmurs, studying him with the fascination usually reserved for a new persona. “You used to try so hard to be charming. Now it’s like you stopped giving a fuck.” 

He’s not wrong. 

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Goro says. “Because you’re still exactly the same.” 

“Can we…” Akira hesitates, an uncharacteristic stutter of uncertainty. “Can we get a drink somewhere? Just to talk?” 

After a moment, Goro nods and carefully, reluctantly makes plans for tomorrow night. After all, Akira’s never going to give this up. And deep down, Goro doesn’t really want him to. 


	5. Chapter 5

The complex melody drifts from the piano throughout the room, wrapped up with the sprightly notes of the flute and the lower, mournful wails of the saxophone. The trio jamming on the small stage of the jazz cafe tonight are lost in their music, their bodies swaying mindlessly to the beat. 

Goro closes his eyes and remembers the first time he brought Akira here, back before everything, when they seemed to be just two boys let loose in Tokyo without adult supervision, boys expected to be men before they were ready. 

But of course it had never been that simple, not even at the start. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” Akira takes the chair next to him rather than across from him. “Sorry I’m late.” 

“Are you?” Goro asks. He hadn’t been watching the time, lost in his thoughts.

Akira smiles at him, sweet and shy, the boy from LeBlanc rather than the trickster Goro came to know in the Metaverse. 

“Let me buy you a drink,” Akira says. “I like to guess what people drink. It’s my specialty.” 

Goro raises an eyebrow, amused. His tastes have changed in the last ten years, and he doubts Akira could guess what they are now. “Go ahead.” 

Akira walks to the bar, which gives Goro a chance to both observe him and recover a little from the gut punch that is Kurusu Akira’s presence. 

Even before he’d been given the order to kill Akira, Goro had felt something whenever Akira was around. A spark, a warmth that made him both uneasy and desperate for more. 

Back then, he knew Akira had no respect or regard for the Detective Prince, no matter how charming Goro pretended to be. Even when Goro joined the team, and allowed the Phantom Thieves to take some measure of his skills, Akira was always two steps ahead. 

How he had  _ hated  _ Akira, back then. The Phantom Thief, beloved by the masses, surrounded by devoted friends, possessing the power of a whole stable of personas. Superior in every single way. 

If Shido had gotten his hands on Akira, he would have discarded Goro in a heartbeat like so much trash. 

Even now, the thought fills Goro with rage. It used to be hot, boiling the blood in his veins, pushing him ever forward on his fool’s quest to take down Shido. 

But now his anger is cold, all the way through, and he knows Akira will have no more fondness for the callous creature he has become than he did for the boy Goro pretended to be all those years ago. 

“An Old Fashioned,” Akira says, setting the drink in front of Goro. He has some kind of blended pink drink for himself, a strawberry garnish perched on the rim. “Am I right?” 

Goro lifts the drink to his lips for a moment before answering. It’s made well, and the whiskey burns pleasantly in his throat and warms his chest. 

“Yes, actually,” he says, only mildly surprised. Joker always was extraordinary. “How did you know?” 

Akira grins, Joker’s smug flash of a smile. Goro finds he hates it less than he used to. 

“Just a hunch.” 

Akira takes a sip of his drink, then his gray eyes land on Goro, solemn for a brief second. Goro thinks he’s going to ask how Goro survived almost certain death in Shido’s palace. But he doesn’t, and Goro is glad.

Instead, Akira says, “So tell me what you’ve been up to for the last ten years.” 

Goro hesitates, takes another sip of his drink. “You first.” 

Akira shrugs one shoulder. “Not much to tell. I went home and finished high school. Did a few years at uni, then dropped out. I kind of, ah...wandered, for a while. Came back to Tokyo about two years ago and ran into my old homeroom teacher. She was working at this nonproft for justice involved youth. They were looking for a counselor. So.” 

He gives Goro a sheepish smile. “That’s it, really.” 

“I see.” Goro can sense a story hidden behind the sparse accounting of the past. But his detective sense tells him not to push, not yet.

Akira gently bumps their shoulders together, and the contact feels like it sparks for a moment, bright and dizzying. 

“What about you?” he asks. 

Goro looks into his drink, the wavy reflection of the lights in the glass. “I changed my name to avoid any of Shido’s men who might still be out there, and took the entrance exams. I went to university, then law school, and then I got the job I have now.” 

He glances at Akira, laughing softly. “Not the most interesting story.” 

“Maybe.” Akira gazes back, steady and solemn. “But I’m glad there is a story. I’m glad you made it here.” 

Goro can’t bring himself to say it back. In his head he hears himself— _ I’m glad you survived what I did to you _ . But he can’t force the words past his lips. 

What does it matter anyway? He doesn’t plan on seeing Akira again. 


	6. Chapter 6

Akira does not go along with Goro’s plan to pretend they had never found each other again. He’s at Goro’s office with bento boxes for lunch, charming his way past the secretary. He’s on the subway, standing close and smiling until Goro reaches his stop, then walking him home. 

He somehow convinces Goro to exchange phone numbers, and texts him frequently, at all hours of the day and night. 

It is immensely disruptive. 

After spending his teenage years teetering between the two extremes—the polished charisma of the Detective Prince and the wild rage of the masked assassin—Goro has settled into an adult life where he avoids any kind of strong emotion. 

Because of this, Akira is dangerous. And yet he  _ craves  _ Akira. Every day a little more, like an addiction. 

Akira touches his arm, and Goro’s skin smolders beneath his clothes. Akira smiles, and Goro wants to draw his gun and shoot one of them, and he’s not sure which. Akira laughs and Goro aches to hear it again and again. 

Goro knows that he’s weak, pathetic, a disgusting fool. If Shido could see what he’s become, he’d be discarded a second time, tossed away like garbage. 

And yet he can’t seem to tell Akira to leave. He can’t even bring himself to want to. 

Goodbye becomes the hardest word to hear, a dreaded curse. Every time they part, something in him is convinced it is the last time, that Akira will come to his senses, that the other Phantom Thieves will shake him until he realizes what a mistake he is making, baring his throat to such a monster. Giving his precious time to someone who does not deserve even a second of it. 

Akira says “See you later,” and Goro comes home to his tidy, empty apartment brimming with emotions he doesn’t understand. 

Tonight, the planetarium. Beneath the stars, Akira held his hand. Afterwards, neither of them said a word about it, but Akira smiled shyly at him the whole train ride back.

Then they parted, and Goro remembers what he forgot in Akira’s dazzling presence. The ever looming inevitability of rejection, hanging over him like the blade of a guillotine. 

“I hate you,” Goro whispers, leaning over the bathroom sink. He has not felt so wretched since his time working for Shido, when Shido would murmur over the phone, “good boy, you’ve done good,” and like a dog he would do anything, anything at all. 

“I hate you, Akira.” 

But it’s his own reflection that collides with his left fist, the mirror shattering on impact, shining shards falling into the sink where they reflect a crooked ceiling. 

His left hand dripping blood into the sink, he calls Akira with his right. 

_ I hate you. I never want to see you again. I never asked for this.  _

“Hey, Goro.” Akira sounds...not angry at the disruption, at Goro’s presumption that he is worthy to make such a call. “I was just thinking about you.” 

Goro’s left hand throbs. Dimly he wonders if he’s going to need stitches. 

“Akira.” He swallows, hesitates. “Tonight was nice.” 

Akira laughs softly. “I’m glad you liked it. It’s a little intimidating planning dates with someone like you, you know.” 

_ Dates? _

“Someone like me.” 

“Smart. Sophisticated. Successful. You know.” 

Despite himself, Goro smiles. He knows that Akira’s opinion—like Shido’s, like everyone’s—can change in an instant, with no warning at all. That approval can rapidly become disdain, senselessly and without cause. 

But for now, he lets himself savor the small moment. 

“If you say so.” He pauses. “Goodnight, Akira.” 

The voice over the phone is warm and kind. “Goodnight, Goro.” 


	7. Chapter 7

“Ah. This is cute.” Goro holds up a small metal figurine of a crow, streaked silver. It’s not anything Akira would think to call cute, but it is striking among the other trinkets and odds and ends that fill the Shinjuku pawn shop. 

“Did you injure your hand?” Akira asks, glancing at the bandage covering Goro’s knuckles and wrapped around his palm. 

“Slicing a bagel,” Goro says ruefully. “More dangerous than a pack of Shadows, apparently.” 

He sets the bird back down, and Akira feels his third eye pulse, the way it sometimes does when he comes across an object of significance. He never knows what the meaning behind it is, only that sometimes there are things in the real world that glow golden like treasure in the Metaverse, if not as brightly. 

This bird is one of them. 

“Let’s go,” Goro calls, already on the other side of the store. 

“Sure,” Akira says, and leaves without a second glance at the crow. He doesn’t need to look more than once for his fingers to know the way. 

They make their way to Crossroads, a booth in the back where the light is dim and comfortable, the atmosphere cozy and private. Goro gets up to get them some drinks, and Akira waits restlessly, dancing the crow across the back of his fingers. He feels a little guilty for taking it. Or rather, he knows he should. 

But he can’t help it. Every so often he finds things that call to him, that hold some kind of energy he doesn’t understand but covets. If he pays for them, the light inside them dims. But if he breaks the rules, the charm holds true. 

It’s probably just some kind of weird neurosis left over from his days as a Phantom Thief. He’s good at not thinking too much about it. 

He tucks the crow away before Goro returns to the table, hides it from those keen detective’s eyes. Goro may have set up every case he solved as the Detective Prince, but that was due to a need for expediency, not a lack of cleverness. He solved every puzzle in Sae’s casino, after all, untangled a spiderweb and then tied Akira neatly within it. 

Akira’s getting good at not thinking about that either. He still hasn’t asked how Goro survived—it’s enough that he did, that he’s here with Akira now, that they’re drawing closer to each other in a way Akira thought was impossible from the start. 

Goro sets their drinks on the table and slides into the booth across from Akira. “I think Lala is starting to think I’m a regular.” 

Akira smiles, because he likes the idea of Goro becoming a regular here. He likes that he can see Goro twice a week now, sometimes three times. He likes Goro’s dry humor and his sharp intellect and thinks even the anger that pervades Goro to the core is evidence of a kind of indomitable strength of character. Or maybe Akira is just besotted. 

“So what did you steal?” Goro asks. 

“What?” Akira blinks at him, utterly shocked. He has never been caught. He has  _ never  _ been caught. He has stolen things on three continents and in the Metaverse, and the only time he was apprehended was because someone else sold him out. The someone sitting right in front of him, in fact.

“I didn’t know you still did that,” Goro says. He looks slightly amused. “I suppose I thought you grew out of it.” 

“Well.” Akira hunches his shoulders, affronted. “I didn’t grow out of it. I did get a hell of a lot better, though.” 

“Stealing here is different than stealing in the Metaverse,” Goro says. “But you’ve learned.” 

It’s easy to recognize the unspoken question, delicately put. Goro is curious about Akira’s life, and that makes Akira’s heart do strange things in his chest. 

“In my third year at uni, I got really...down,” Akira says. “It got to the point where I just couldn’t take one more day of going to class, struggling to make the grade, planning for some big future where I was just another cog in this huge, faceless machine…” 

Goro nods for Akira to continue. He looks like he’s really listening, like he really does care. It’s charming, how intently he’s watching Akira, how thoughtfully. 

“So one day I just didn’t go home. I had ten thousand yen in my checking account, my phone, and the clothes on my back. And I just started walking. When I ran out of money, I stole what I needed or I did odd jobs. I made my way across Japan, and then overseas to the United States. From there, I went to Mexico, then hopped a boat to Europe. I didn’t have any luggage—I just took whatever I wanted and then left it behind when I didn’t need it anymore. I might never have come back, but Futaba found me.”

Goro is quiet for a moment. Then he smiles, slow and fond. “That is so very like you, Akira.” 

He asks for more stories about Akira’s travels, so Akira tells him about the week he spent with a beautiful French actress and the redwood forests that grow on the western side of America. About the murals he saw in Mexico, as grand as anything in a Palace, and the sun rising over Mt. Fuji when he returned. 

And just like that, the night slips away. It’s late when they leave Crossroads, and they’re both a little tipsy. 

“Here,” Akira says, standing just outside the bar. Holding the metal crow on his palm like an offering. 

Goro doesn’t take it. He looks at it for a long moment, his jaw working like he’s angry or upset. And then he shoves Akira back into the alley beside the bar, into the darkest part, obscured from the road by the curve of the alleyway. 

“Goro, what—” 

And then Goro is kissing him ruthlessly, stealing his breath away and making his heart hammer in his chest. It’s unexpected but so, so welcome, and his body responds before his mind catches up, leaning in, opening his mouth to the assault. 

He brings his hands up, one pressed against the side of Goro’s neck, the other gently carding through his hair. But Goro grabs him by the wrists, pins his arms to the brick wall behind him. 

“Don’t—don’t touch,” Goro says, and when he releases Akira’s wrists, Akira keeps his hands against the wall, watching with amazement as Goro gets on his knees, pressing his fingers firmly to the bulge in Akira’s pants. 

“You want me,” Goro says, and there’s something almost clinical about it, detached in a way that makes Akira hesitate. But it’s easy to forget his uncertainty when Goro’s mouth is wet and hot around his cock, when Goro takes him deep and hard, setting a brutal pace against which Akira has no hope of lasting. 

He comes with a shout he forgets to muffle, vision gone white, his knees weak and wobbly. It takes a long, dazed moment before he recovers, and by the time he does, Goro is already halfway down the alley. He doesn’t look back when Akira calls his name, and the half second it takes Akira to adjust his pants and run after him is enough for Goro to get lost in the crowd. 

Akira spends a long time wandering through Shinjuku hoping to find Goro, texting and calling as he searches, but neither strategy yields results, so he heads home close to dawn with a heavy heart. 


	8. Chapter 8

As soon as Goro is back in his apartment, he’s undoing his fly, stroking himself rapidly to hardness. He leans his back against the door and closes his eyes, thinking of Akira, the taste of his lips and his cock, the soft, helpless noises he made. The moment when he said Goro’s name, like something precious he couldn’t live without. 

Goro bites his lip as he comes, hard enough to draw blood, to keep himself from saying, over and over,  _ Akira, Akira, Akira.  _

Then he cleans himself up in the bathroom, looking away from his shattered reflection. 

This is how he always does it, how he wants it. Only it’s usually someone anonymous, someone he meets in a bar and drags into a back alley. He never lets them touch him, he rarely even allows a kiss. He just gets his partner off, then leaves before they can try to return the favor. Back at home, he’ll jerk off, and then he’ll be done with it. 

Why should it be different just because it’s Akira? 

He picks up his phone and for the first time, notices the missed calls and texts. 

**_2:10 AM_ **

**_Akira:_ ** _ Where are you?  _

**_Akira:_ ** _ Did I do something wrong?  _

**_2:23 AM_ **

**_Akira:_ ** _ If I did, I’m really sorry.  _

**_2:37 AM_ **

**_Akira:_ ** _ Please answer me.  _

**_Akira:_ ** _ I would never forgive myself if I did anything to hurt you.  _

**_2:52 AM_ **

**_Akira:_ ** _ I’m still in Shinjuku. Near the theater. If you want to see me.  _

**_Akira:_ ** _ It’s okay if you don’t.  _

**_3:12 AM_ **

**_Akira:_ ** _ I was so happy when I found you again.  _

**_Akira:_ ** _ Please don’t let this be the end of it.  _

**_3:22 AM_ **

**_Akira:_ ** _ I’m still here.  _

**_Akira:_ ** _ I’m sorry.  _

Goro checks his watch and thinks hard about how to answer it. 

**3:45 AM**

**_Goro:_ ** _ It’s not you. I promise.  _

**_Goro:_ ** _ I’m sorry I upset you.  _

Goro leaves his phone on the sofa and walks out onto the balcony. His apartment is nice, if somewhat spartan in decor, on the twentieth floor with a lovely view of the city. He leans on the railing and looks out into the collection of lights for a long time, thoughts spinning and spinning. 

“If I jumped, would you let me?” he asks. 

_ I am thou, thou art I. And I have no intention of dying.  _

Loki’s voice is low and sinister as always, the carefully controlled chaos that lives within Goro’s heart. No gentleman thief, not for the boy who wanted to burn it all down, himself included. His persona is twisted and dark, just as he is. 

Robin Hood was the facade, the hero he wished he could be, but never would. Loki resides at his core. 

_ I will never understand why you do not simply take what you want.  _

Goro huffs a soft, bitter laugh. After tonight, Akira is surely done with him. 

_ You cannot be certain. Arsene is not so fickle.  _

Goro doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a few of the sleeping pills in his medicine cabinet and falls into bed still in his clothes, drifting off into blessed unconsciousness. 


	9. Chapter 9

After the last customer finally leaves LeBlanc for the day, Akira lets out a long, weary sigh. It’s been a difficult nine days—he can’t stop himself from counting—since he last saw Goro, running away into the Shinjuku crowd. He still doesn’t understand what happened, what he did, and Goro hasn’t responded to any of his texts or calls. 

He wishes, not for the first time, that he was the kind of person who could confide in others, the way they always confide in him. That he could rest his head on Ann’s shoulder and listen to her cheerfully comfort him. That he could tell Ryuji what happened, so Ryuji could get angry on his behalf, and tell him Goro doesn’t deserve him anyway. That he could bring it up to Futaba, so she could concoct for him a hundred ways to get revenge on the man who broke his heart, each scenario more improbable than the last. 

But Akira has never been that kind of person. At the art museum with Yuske, walking through Shibuya with Morgana in a bag slung over his shoulder, sitting with Makoto in the crappy diner by the courthouse where all the cops go to get terrible coffee—he tries to bring it up and each time the words stick in his throat. 

Instead what comes out is:  _ I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.  _

Just like in the Metaverse, when he’d take a hit and grin through the pain. Goro’s not the only one who’s a good liar. Maybe that’s why Akira never hated him, even when he knew he should. 

_ You miss him.  _

Arsene’s voice is low and melodic, ever the gentleman. Akira hears it the same way he hears his own heartbeat, thrumming through his veins. 

“Yeah. I guess so.” Akira runs a wet rag restlessly over a counter that’s already clean. “There’s no hiding it from you, huh?” 

_ I am thou, thou art I.  _

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Akira wonders if the other Phantom Thieves still talk to their personas. Somehow, he doesn’t think so. 

_ Loki is still present. And he’s dangerous. _

Akira laughs softly. “Do you think I’d be so interested if there wasn’t any danger?” 

Arsene doesn’t answer, but of course he understands. 

Akira finishes cleaning up the counter and putting the dishes away for the night. He’s standing outside, in the process of flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, when he hears a soft, familiar voice. 

“Am I too late? I was hoping for a cup of coffee.” 

He whirls around to see Goro there, silver briefcase in hand. He’s dressed in a stylishly cut three piece suit, red satin tie against a white shirt, and stands solemnly, waiting for Akira to answer. 

“For you?” Akira can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. “Anything.” 

Inside LeBlanc, it’s cool and dimly lit. Akira flips the lights back on but leaves the sign set to CLOSED. Goro takes his usual seat at the bar, and for a moment Akira has fallen back ten years, the Detective Prince sitting prim and proper with a cup of coffee and an ingratiating smile. 

“This place brings back a lot of memories, doesn’t it?” Goro says. He doesn’t smile as much now, and never like he used to. His smiles are always touched by a tinge of bitterness, always a little aloof, but genuine in a way they never were before. 

“Seeing you here certainly does,” Akira says, getting out the things he needs to make coffee. “I remember watching you on TV, and then you’d walk through the door, and sit right there, and drink coffee with too much sugar.” 

Goro’s smile is cold, private, a joke only he is in on. “I take it black,” he says. 

“I figured.” Akira slides the cup across the bar. 

Goro takes a sip and closes his eyes, clearly savoring it. “I missed this.” 

It warms something in Akira like it always does, to see someone he cares about enjoying coffee or curry he’s made. 

“I hated you, back then,” Goro says, setting his cup down. “Did you know that?” 

_ You were conflicted,  _ Akira thinks, but knows better than to say it. 

“Yeah. To be fair, I didn’t like you much either.” 

Akira never trusted Goro, never liked his saccharine smile, his fake laugh. He’d pitied Goro, back then, when he found out about Goro’s situation, his past. But it wasn’t until he saw Loki rise from Goro’s rebellious heart that he truly felt anything like respect. 

“I suppose so.” Goro sips his coffee, his eyes scanning the shelves behind Akira. A closed book, impossible to read. If he had a Palace, it would be full of locked doors. 

“Did I hurt you?” Akira asks, his heart catching in his throat. “That night in Shinjuku, did I do something wrong?”

Goro pauses, looks up from the cup of coffee. He’s so handsome like this, his hair in slight disarray, the long, clean line of his jaw and his clever eyes. Akira’s not ashamed to admit it takes his breath away, just a little. 

“Of course not,” he says sharply. “I don’t know why you would assume that.” 

“I don’t know.” Akira crosses his arms, feeling oddly vulnerable. “Maybe because you ran away as fast as you could.” 

“That’s not...I wasn’t  _ running, _ ” Goro snaps. “I just needed a little space. I don’t like to be touched, and I had a feeling that’s what you were about to do.” 

“You’re the one who started it,” Akira growls back. Goro’s tone is downright accusatory, and it sets him on edge. 

“And I’d continue it, if I thought you could follow the rules,” Goro says. “I’m not someone you can fall in love with, Akira. You should know better by now.” 

Akira sighs, coming out from behind the bar and pulling his apron over his head. It’s unexpectedly painful to hear Goro say something like that; it makes Akira realize he was halfway in love already. 

“Yeah, okay, I get it,” he mumbles, his back to Goro. “You’re not into me. I should’ve taken the hint the first time. You don’t have to tell me again.” 

“Akira.” Goro grips Akira’s wrists from behind, holding them with one hand behind Akira’s back. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes,” Akira says. He doesn’t even hesitate, even though he knows he should at least think it over. 

“Good.” Goro presses a kiss to the side of his neck, moving up to his ear, and the hot sensation that spikes through him distracts him completely, so that he doesn’t realize until after that he’s been handcuffed with the speed and expertise of a law enforcement officer. 

For a moment he feels a flash of panic, as the cold metal around his wrists brings him back to that dark interrogation room, the guards’ laughter as they hit him, their cruel promises. The increasing realization that he was going to die there, abandoned in that dank underground space, and—

“Hey. Come back to me.” Goro’s hands are on the sides of Akira’s face, and he’s nearly close enough to kiss, watching Akira carefully. “Talk to me, Joker.” 

Akira swallows, laughs. It’s not convincing. “Just...memories. It’s nothing.” 

Goro’s eyes widen. “Of course. Waiting for me to come kill you must have been traumatic. I didn’t think about that. Here, let me get those off.” 

“It wasn’t you,” Akira says, as Goro unlocks the handcuffs and slips them off as easily as he’d put them on. “It was the officers that took me in. Drugged me and beat the shit out of me.” 

Anger flashes in Goro’s eyes. “I told them not to touch you,” he says. “That you were mine to interrogate.” 

“I’m yours, huh?” Akira huffs a soft, bitter laugh.

“Akira…” Goro relents, looking away. “Intimacy is difficult for me. The handcuffs were my attempt to make it a little easier. A way for me to stay in control.” 

Akira smirks, feeling for a moment just as Joker did before leaping out of that stained glass window in Sae’s casino. About to fall. Regretting nothing. 

“Handcuffs suck,” he says. “But what kind of thief would I be if I didn’t have any rope?” 


	10. Chapter 10

Even with Akira blindfolded and tied to the bed with knots even a clever trickster would struggle to undo, Goro struggles to be vulnerable. Even with his fingers inside Akira, Akira’s cock in his mouth, he holds himself apart. 

More than anything, he wants this to be good for Akira, so good he’ll never want to walk away. 

“Goro,” Akira pants, his body trembling. He’s so beautiful like this, his black hair even messier than usual, his skin flushed and pink. “Wait. Stop.” 

Goro freezes, wondering what he’s done wrong. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Akira says. “Please.” 

Nothing could be better than this, sweeter, hotter, than Akira begging, needy and helpless. Goro wants to—his body aches for it. But he is also afraid of the intimacy and connection such an act would bring. 

_ Take what is yours. Why care so much about tomorrow when everything you want is right here? _

Loki’s wild will suffuses Goro, and he lunges forward to kiss Akira passionately. “Anything for you,” he says against Akira’s lips, and feels Akira’s answering smile. 

Goro has never fucked anyone like this before, and he’s unprepared for how good it feels, the heat of Akira’s body all around him, as curses and praise fall from Akira’s lips. 

“Fuck, Goro, you’re so good, so fucking perfect,” Akira murmurs, and Goro’s body burns with desire and affection. In this moment he would give Akira anything, his heart, his Treasure, anything at all. 

Afterwards, he gently cleans Akira with a washcloth retrieved from the bathroom, unties him, and removes the blindfold. Akira grins at him, naked and utterly unselfconscious, hands laced behind his head as he reclines on the pillow. 

He’s breathtaking like that, gorgeous enough to make Goro’s chest hurt. 

“You’re already dressed,” Akira pouts, tugging at the side of Goro’s shirt. “Won’t you stay for a little while?” 

Goro wants to. More than anything, he wants to curl up with Akira on the shabby bed in this tiny apartment in Yongen-Jaya and shut out the world. But he can tell his ability to withstand emotion is nearly spent. 

“Maybe next time,” he says. 

“Okay.” Akira looks disappointed. “Promise me there will be a next time.” 

Goro leans in and kisses Akira on the forehead. He has no idea what inspired the display of tenderness, but he can’t stop himself. Akira makes a fool out of him, every time. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he murmurs. “I promise.” 


	11. Chapter 11

Akira slings the bag of ingredients over his shoulder, takes a deep breath, and knocks at Goro’s door. 

He hasn’t been invited—not exactly. He’s just impatient to see Goro again, and hopes his visit will keep Goro from going to all those dark places in his head. 

And he’s bringing a breakfast of homemade curry. Who could be annoyed at that? 

He knocks again, and again. After several tries, he briefly debates the ethical implications of picking the lock, then shrugs and reaches for the tools he carries in his pocket. 

He can hear the shower running once he’s inside, so he sets the curry ingredients on the counter and turns to take in the space. 

It’s all modern furniture, stark glass and impeccable white surfaces. Very Goro, he thinks, and then his third eye pulses, hard. 

A locked drawer on a side table. He has it open in minutes, and finds himself staring at the dark shapes of a pistol and silencer, waiting to be used. 

“Shit,” he whispers, lifting the gun in his hand. It’s no fake, not like the kind he used to buy from Iwai. This is as real as it gets. 

“Akira.” Goro is standing in the doorway to his bedroom, dressed down in a pale turtleneck and jeans. “What are you—”

“I thought you were done with this,” Akira says, and his voice is hoarse with anger and sorrow. “I thought you had changed.” 

A flicker of a bitter smile crosses Goro’s lips. “There’s still someone I want to kill. I think you’d agree he deserves it.” 

Akira stares bleakly down at the gun. He should do something heroic, stand up and tell Goro:  _ I’m not going to let you kill someone.  _

But what if Goro is right? What if it’s another Kamoshida, another Kaneshiro? Another Shido? Would Akira really stand in his way? 

Or would he help? 

“Now you know,” Goro says. “What kind of trash I am. Now you can leave with a clear conscience, Akira. You tried to save me and you failed.” 

Goro’s face is blank, cool and composed, but his fists are clenched so tightly the knuckles are white with strain.

Akira thinks back to the stories Goro has told him of his childhood, of how many people did just that, discarded him like trash when things became too difficult. And even as he holds the gun in his hands, Akira knows he’s powerless to walk away. 

He gets up and crosses the distance between them, taking Goro’s left fist in his hand and gently prying it open. There are bloody half-moons pressed into his palm. 

“I’m not leaving,” he says firmly, and hopes Goro will believe it. “But I wish you’d talk to me.” 

Goro turns his face away, his jaw working. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.” 

Akira takes his hand and tugs him down on the couch. “Let me clean your hands before they get infected.” 

Goro lets him, watching dispassionately as Akira dabs a little rubbing alcohol on the cuts left by Goro’s fingernails. He doesn’t flinch at the sting of the disinfectant, but he does startle when Akira kisses the back of his hand. 

“Start at the beginning,” Akira says. “I’ll listen for as long as you want.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole fic has a trigger warning for suicide, but that is especially relevant for this chapter.

_ The first time Goro tries to kill himself, he’s nine years old, slashing at his wrists with a dull kitchen knife.  _

_ “What the hell are you doing?” His foster mother walks into the kitchen and slaps him, hard. The knife tumbles from his grasp. “Do you think the agency will keep sending us money if they know you’re doing shit like that?”  _

_ Goro doesn’t understand. He thought they wanted him to die. He’s a nuisance who eats too much, who takes up too much space, who needs clothes and shoes and school uniforms and all sorts of things they don’t want to pay for. He thought if he was gone, they would be happier. And he wouldn’t have to be so afraid.  _

_ “Sheesh, look at what you did,” his foster mother complains. Goro’s forearms are covered in superficial scratches from a blade barely sharper than a butter knife. They sting like mad, and little beads of blood well up along the scratches. But Goro knows it’s not enough to die from.  _

_ She drags him into the bathroom, sits him on the closed toilet. He doesn’t mind the burn of the rubbing alcohol, the brusque way she cleans the wounds, because she’s caring for him, protecting him in a way no one ever does.  _

_ “There,” she says, putting on the final bandage. “Now they’ll heal before the social worker comes again. And you won’t tell her about this, will you Goro?”  _

_ Numbly, Goro shakes his head.  _

_ In the end, he doesn’t have to tell the social worker anything. The bruises beneath his clothes and the dead look in his eyes speak for themselves.  _

_ Goro is sixteen the second time he tries. By then he’s been in six different foster homes, and has been taught again and again how thoroughly unlovable he is. He plans it carefully, with the same precision of mind that will later serve him well as a detective. His scheme goes off without a hitch—slipping through a maintenance doorway just before it swings shut after the staff person walks away, following a map through the maze of hallways that runs behind the scenes of the Shibuya station. Moving carefully around corners, he reaches his destination, an unremarkable door that leads into a deserted part of the tracks, far from any platform.  _

_ He lies down on the tracks and closes his eyes, and when he opens them he’s in Mementos. _

_ He’s never been in the Metaverse before, has no idea what a Shadow is, but when they swarm him, sensing easy prey, he awakens to Loki and cuts them all down laughing.  _

_ The third time Goro tries to kill himself, he is eighteen and he is quickly becoming friends with Akira Kurusu. He fancies himself ruthless, but guilt eats away at him in the quiet. Guilt, but never uncertainty. He knows the way forward, and is not surprised it involves sacrifice.  _

_ On the anniversary of his mother’s death, he lingers in Yongen-Jaya, around the corner from LeBlanc, for hours. His mind is light and spinny, untethered. He cannot think about the past, and he cannot bear the present, so he just goes away for a little while. Just as he used to when he was a kid in situations he could not escape.  _

_ He dissociates away from his body, and when he returns to it, he is sitting on the couch in his apartment, an array of empty pill bottles before him.  _

_ Not like this, he thinks desperately. I’m so close.  _

_ He activates the Nav and watches reality dissolve around him. Safely in the Metaverse, he takes several restoratives and curatives, meant to dispel all manner of poisons. It burns his insides, and makes him sicker than he’s ever been, but somehow he survives.  _

_After that, he restricts himself to one attempt a year. Some years he does it because the hate he carries in his heart becomes overwhelming; some years it’s because of the despair. Every time, Loki saves him._


	13. Chapter 13

“That’s what the gun is for,” Goro tells Akira, who is staring at him with wide gray eyes. Akira hasn’t said a word, but listened with an intensity that kept Goro’s words flowing, even when he should have stayed silent. 

Akira blinks at him, and then lunges forward. Their bodies crash together as Akira hugs him close, clinging on like a drowning man. 

“Akira,” he says, chiding. “I’m fine.” 

“Sorry.” Akira pulls away, but his eyes are bright with tears. “It’s just that...you almost died so many times. When I think of what it would be like if I had never met you…” 

“You’d be fine,” Goro says. He feels oddly calm, floaty and empty. 

“I wouldn’t be fine without you.” 

“It’s too late to save me,” Goro says. He feels very, very tired. “You were always too late to save me.” 

Akira gets up and takes Goro’s hand, leading him to the bedroom. “Will you lay down with me and hold me?” he asks. “Please?”

Goro nods, and that seems to be all Akira needs. They curl up together on the bed, Goro holding Akira close, his front curled around Akira’s back. The intimacy is dizzying, but Goro is too spent to run from it, so he just breathes in the soft alpine scent of Akira’s hair and drifts. 

“Goro,” Akira says, softly. “What should I do? The love of my life nearly died  _ so many times _ , and I don’t know how to process it.” 

Goro huffs a soft, annoyed laugh. “Don’t tease me.” 

“I’m not. I love you so much it makes me crazy. The god set us up as rivals, but what that really means is that you’re my other half.” 

Akira curls in on himself, bowing his head. His shoulders start to shake with soft sobs. 

“I missed you so much,” he whispers. “If I lost you again, I don’t know if I could take it.” 

“Shh,” Goro murmurs. He has no experience in comforting, or being comforted. But it feels right to tighten his grip on Akira, to pull him closer and gently kiss the side of his neck, just below his ear. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” 

In a way, it makes it easier that Akira is the one breaking instead of him. Goro doesn’t think he could handle another second of vulnerability, but caring for Akira makes him feel like he’s in control again. Just like in the Metaverse, he can keep himself steady when he knows Akira needs him. 

It doesn’t take long before Akira’s sobs fade, and he pulls away sniffling. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“It’s okay,” Goro says. He remembers what it felt like when he thought Akira was dead. 

They lay together like that for a long time, long enough that the dizzy edge of anxiety the closeness provoked wears off, and is replaced by a kind of weary contentment. Goro finds himself more disappointed than relieved when Akira finally pulls away. 

“I brought stuff to make curry.” Akira swings his legs over the edge of the bed and sits up. “Do you want some? It always makes things seem better.” 

“I would,” Goro says. He ventures out into the living room to give Akira a little space to wash his face and compose himself. 

The gun is sitting on the white coffee table, sinister gleam of dark metal. 

“I’m taking this,” Akira says, brushing past him. His voice is authoritative— _ Joker’s voice.  _ He leaves no room for argument. 

“Fine,” Goro says. It’s something of a relief to have it gone. 

He sits on a stool at the counter and watches Akira make curry. It’s oddly like LeBlanc, and his austere apartment seems warmer, somehow, with Akira in it. A little bit like a home. 

“I, uh…” Akira clears his throat. “I had a funeral for you. Kind of. It was just me and Morgana, at the Diet Building where I thought you died. He said some nice things about you and I just…cried.” 

“You missed me.” It isn’t something Goro considered, or even thought possible. He’d assumed Akira hated him, after all that transpired between them. 

Akira snorts, setting a cup of coffee in front of him. “Of course I missed you, you idiot. All those nights at LeBlanc playing chess, our missions into the Metaverse. That time you and me went into Mementos together to hunt Shadows just for the hell of it. All that meant something to me.”

Goro looks into the dark pool of his coffee. “Not just you,” he tries. It isn’t easy to force the words out, to strip himself vulnerable for Akira to see. “It meant something to me too.” 

“I knew it,” Akira says with a smirk, and leans across the counter to kiss him. 

The curry is eaten, the dishes are done, and Akira’s things are waiting by the door. Even so, he’s lingering, stalling for time like he can’t bear the thought of leaving. 

“Will you be okay?” he asks, for the hundredth time. 

“Yes. Of course.” Goro tries not to roll his eyes. “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

“Yeah.” Akira shoves his hands in his pockets, looking away. “Of course you have. I just…”

“Trust me,” Goro says. “I know myself.” At Akira’s forlorn nod, he relents. “I’ll call you soon. I promise.” 

“Okay.” Akira gives him a slight smile. “I love you.” 

And with that, he slips out the door like a Phantom Thief. Joker always did like to have the last word. 


	14. Chapter 14

Goro sits on the sofa in the small but comfortable office, dancing a pen across the backs of his fingers and looking anywhere but at the therapist. 

“I’m only here because Akira made me come,” he says. “I don’t actually need a shrink.” 

Sakamoto smiles, but it’s genuinely friendly, amused. “You know, I usually work with teenagers, and most of them give me that exact same look you got right now.” 

It was Akira’s idea, of course. Not only that Goro see a therapist, but that he see Sakamoto, who apparently spent the last ten years becoming a counselor for troubled adolescents. It was important to Akira—Goro couldn’t care less—that Goro’s therapist have knowledge of the Metaverse, which narrowed down the field quite a lot. 

“What did Akira promise you to get you to agree to this?” Goro asks. 

“Well, he owes me a beer for sure,” Sakamoto says, “but nothin, really. This is my job and you have good health insurance.” 

“This is just a job. Treating the man who killed your best friend.” 

“I’m a professional,” Sakamoto says, “and I specialize in justice-involved kids anyway. Everyone’s got a past. So how about you stop wasting your time talking about me and we talk about you instead?” 

Goro spreads his fingers, shrugging. “There’s nothing to say.” 

“Right. You’re just here ‘cause of my good looks and charm. ‘Kira’s gonna be jealous, y’know.” 

Goro takes a deep steadying breath and considers the possibility that he had tried to kill the wrong Phantom Thief. 

“Akira thinks I’m going to try to commit suicide.” 

Goro expected Sakamoto to react, but he takes it in stride, nodding calmly like he hears that kind of thing every day. Maybe he does. 

“Why does he think that?” Sakamoto asks. 

“Because I’ve tried before,” Goro admits. 

“Yeah?” Sakamoto scribbles something onto his notepad, then sticks his pen back behind his ear. “How recently?”

Goro thinks back. It was his birthday, just before Akira fell back into his life. “Four months.” 

Sakamoto nods placidly. Another notation. “How’d you try it?” 

Goro mimes pressing a gun to his head and pulling the trigger, and for the first time, a deeper look of concern briefly crosses Sakamoto’s face. 

“You survived that?” Sakamoto says. 

“Loki.” Goro shrugs. He hasn’t been able to explain it himself. “I try every year. It never works.” 

“Gotcha.” Sakamoto studies him with a surprising perceptiveness. “Where’s the gun?” 

“Akira took it.” 

“Cool.” Sakamoto sets his pad of paper aside and leans forward. “So, uh, I’m not the type that like, digs into your childhood and all that. That can be helpful but it’s not my specialty.”

Goro raises an eyebrow skeptically. He’s missing work for this? 

“What we do here is we set goals,” Sakamoto says. “N then we work towards ‘em. Think of it like a marathon. I help you figure out the route, but you gotta do the running.” 

There’s something oddly compelling about Sakamoto’s demeanor when he’s like this. He feels like a solid friend, like someone who has your back, no matter what. It’s a good tactic for a therapist to take, but it can’t possibly be genuine. 

“So.” Sakamoto picks up his notepad and flips to a fresh page. “How about we line up some goals?” 

Once upon a time Goro had been a very goal oriented person. He could have made a cleanly defined PowerPoint chart with his pyramid of goals, working up to the very last moment of his revenge plan, until Akira stood in his way and denied him the victory he had killed and sacrificed and suffered for. 

Now, he’s aimless and adrift, and barely even minds it. 

But Sakamoto just sits quietly, waiting for him to say something, and lets the silence become so stifling Goro speaks just to break it. 

“I want Akira to worry less.” 

“Yeah, I get that. He’s always been a worrier. But here’s the thing.” Sakamoto leans forward, his expression gentle and open. “You can’t make Akira do or be anything. We only got power over ourselves. So your goals gotta be for you.” 

Goro crosses his arms, feeling like a chastised teenager. “I don’t have any goals.” 

“So you’re happy with everything the way it is?” 

Goro looks away, casts about for something to hold onto, anything at all, and then speaks without thinking. 

“I want to be someone who deserves Akira’s love.” 

“Mmm.” Sakamoto’s pen scratches on the paper. “That’s a start. Tell me what it would be like to believe you deserve him.” 

The rest of the session passes more quickly, a discussion of strategy and objectives that makes it easier to frame the emotional turmoil at his core. At the end of it, Sakamoto tears the piece of paper out of his notepad and hands it to Goro. 

“Your goal tracker,” he says with a smile. “Hang onto it and we’ll go over it next time.” 

Goro arches a brow. “You assume there will be a next time.” 

“Hell yeah I do. We made progress, man. You quit now and it’s all for nothin.” 

It’s a ridiculous argument, not at all logical. A sunk cost fallacy. But for some reason Goro still makes a second appointment on his way out. 

_It’ll make Akira happy. That’s the only reason._

On the train, he unfolds the piece of paper and notices that Sakamoto has taken some liberties with the wording of his goal. And that his handwriting is awful.

Therapy goal: Believe I’m someone worthy of Akira’s love 

Strategies I will try: 

Be a good boyfriend 

Take care of myself 

Forgive myself for the past 

This week I will: 

-Do Sakamoto’s stupid mindfulness exercise 3 times 

-Take Akira on a date 

-Get at least 6 hours of sleep every night 

-Come back for a second appointment 

Goro studies the paper for a second, then pulls a pen out of his pocket and makes a clean notation. 

~~ Forgive myself for the past  ~~

Akira has forgiven him, and that’s already more than he deserves. He’s not going to evade responsibility for his many crimes—he will carry that weight with him to the grave, as he should.

The rest of it however…

He’ll give it a try. For Akira’s sake.


	15. Chapter 15

“Stay,” Akira murmurs, lying beside Goro on the futon in LeBlanc. Gentle lamplight falls over them, casting golden highlights in Goro’s hair. “Please.” 

Goro kisses him gently. “I have an early meeting. And I can’t show up in the same clothes I wore yesterday.”

“Then keep some clothes here,” Akira says. “So next time you can stay.” 

Goro sighs, leaning back on the bed, hands behind his head. “You make me absolutely insane, Akira.” 

“Good.” Akira grins, unfazed by Goro’s annoyed tone. After six months of dating, he’s getting pretty used to Goro’s mercurial moods.

For a while, he was terrified that any melancholy or sadness meant Goro was going to try and kill himself again. But he’s gotten better at reading Goro, at letting go of his fear of loss enough to be the support that Goro needs. And in return, Goro has been there for him every time he’s needed someone to lean on. 

It’s been good. Akira’s both wildly happy and incredibly scared, because every moment ties him a little closer to someone who is so guarded and aloof that he rarely stays for an entire night and has never even said “I love you.” Someone who is unwilling to meet his parents, who still asks that Akira keep his very existence secret from his closest friends (with the exception of Ryuji, of course). 

His friends would understand—Akira knows they would. Even Haru and Futaba would be supportive. But Goro refuses to listen. 

“I was thinking about that house, the one on the way to the station,” Goro says. It’s an odd change of subject, and he’s staring at the ceiling like he doesn’t want to look too closely at Akira’s expression. 

“The haunted one?” Akira sits up and peers out the window. “You know, you can see it from here when it’s light out.” 

“I know. And you like it, don’t you?” 

“Yeah.” Akira turns back to Goro, putting one hand on Goro’s bare chest for no reason other than that he can. He’ll never get used to being allowed to touch Goro so freely, whenever he wants. “I love it. It’s so strange looking, with the dark paint and all those weird windows. Everyone says it’s haunted. I wish I could spend the night there and find out.” 

Goro’s eyes land on Akira, watching him intently. “Would you like to live there?” 

“That would be pretty cool,” Akira admits. “And not just because it probably has a shower. But it’s like, perfect. Right next to LeBlanc and totally spooky.” He sighs, flopping down beside Goro again. “Maybe someday, right?” 

As though he could ever make enough to afford a house here. He’s lucky Sojiro charges so little for this attic. 

“How about now?” Goro says, turning on his side to face Akira. He’s tense in a way he almost always was at the start of their relationship. Like he’s waiting for Akira to shove him away. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, it was for sale.” 

Akira’s eyes widen as he starts to figure it out. “Was?” 

“Real estate moves very quickly in this area,” Goro says cautiously. “I had to make an offer the day it went on the market or I probably would have lost it.” 

Akira blinks. He knows Goro is rich, but he continues to be surprised by the evidence of it. 

“It’s yours, if you want it,” Goro says. He has that look in his eyes, like he’s just waiting to be rejected. 

“Ours,” Akira corrects him. “You’ll live there with me, won’t you?” 

Goro hesitates. “I’ll...need a little time. To get used to it.” 

It’s not a no, and that’s good enough for Akira. He grins like he’s just won a negotiation with a powerful shadow, and tackles Goro to the bed. 

“I love it,” he says, between kisses. “It’s perfect. You’re so good to me, Goro. You make me so happy.” 

Goro's expression softens as he drinks in the praise like he always does. It breaks Akira’s heart, the way Goro is so desperate to be wanted, even now after all this time. 

But he’s determined to make up for it with how deeply he wants Goro, all of him, even the parts that are bitter and broken, the parts Goro is convinced are ruined beyond repair. 


	16. Chapter 16

Everything is still in boxes, stacked atop the dark hardwood floors that fill the house. Goro intends to buy some rugs soon, and some furniture better suited to the tranquil, homey atmosphere. All of his things are black glass and hard edged, better suited to his cold, impersonal apartment in Shibuya. 

In a little house in a back alley in Yongen-Jaya, a place that he shares with a person who is endlessly open and warm and kind, even the aesthetic is different. 

Goro is still getting used to it. 

Akira has been living in the house for a week. Goro moved his things in four days ago. Since then, they have been almost constantly in each other’s company, as Goro has taken a little time off work to manage the move. 

He’d thought it would be difficult, but it hasn’t been. Somewhere along the way it became easier to be with Akira than to be alone. 

But right now Goro’s by himself in a house filled with calm and contentment, putting things away while Akira picks up some groceries. 

There is a cardboard box by the bed that Akira insisted on carrying himself, unwilling to entrust it to the moving truck. It’s already open, and on the top Goro can see a photo album with a picture of the Phantom Thieves smiling on the cover, an eager gang of teenagers. 

He’d envied them bitterly, back then, and despised them for having what he never could. Now his anger has cooled to buried embers, but if they try to take Akira from him…

Beneath the photo album is a small box, lacquered black and gold. He lifts it carefully, and despite himself, can’t help but lift the lid and peer into it. 

The trinkets inside are covered with a piece of black leather. He picks it up, hefts it in his hand. It’s his glove, the one he threw at Akira in a fit of pique after losing a duel. 

_ He kept it all this time?  _

And there’s more, scattered beneath it. Chalk for a pool cue, with the logo for the Penguin Sniper on the wrapper. A napkin from the Jazz Jin, decorated with a round stain from a coffee cup. A gold button from Goro’s Metaverse outfit, which defies explanation in several ways. And finally, the silver crow figurine that Akira stole in Shibuya for him. 

_ Did all of this really mean so much to him?  _

It seems impossible, and yet here is the proof that for all Goro’s flaws and all his viciousness, Akira never was willing to let him go. 

A knock on the door startles him out of his thoughts, and he sets the box aside, wondering if Akira has managed to lock himself out again. 

He hurries to the front door and opens it. 

“Surprise!” Futaba, Ann, and Haru stand pressed close together, holding a large and rather ugly plant like an offering.

“Wait, is that Akechi?” Morgana pokes out of Ann’s oversized purse, mouth open in shock. 

Ann and Makoto are wearing similar expressions, staring at him with wide eyes. Futaba, however, doesn’t look startled in the slightest. 

“Hey Akechi,” she says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You’ve been spying on us, you little gremlin,” Goro says, low and threatening. 

“What? No way!” Futaba grins like she knows Akira’s misplaced affection will keep her safe from any threat Goro might make. “I’m as surprised as everyone else.” 

“What is  _ he  _ doing here?” Haru asks, her voice soft and steely like silk draped over a blade. 

“I didn’t even know you were alive,” Morgana adds. 

Behind them, Goro catches sight of Akira, hurrying down the street towards them. Their eyes meet, and everything else falls away. 

He thinks of the nights spent playing pool, the yearning he felt whenever he watched Akira’s clever hands pull off a difficult shot. The conversations they had, as wide ranging and unpredictable as a jazz song. Even before everything, Akira completed him in a way he hadn’t thought possible. And when he tried to destroy their bond, Akira refused to let go. 

As a detective, Goro went into every case with an open mind, refusing to make assumptions. And yet he has made nothing but assumptions ever since Akira walked back into his life. Assuming that Akira would leave him, that Akira could never truly love him. That Akira could do so much better for himself. 

But the evidence tells a different story, and finally, Goro lets himself believe it. 

“I’m here because of Akira,” he tells the assembled Phantom Thieves. “He asked me to stay. So I will.” 

“Hey,” Akira says, putting an arm around Futaba and squeezing her close, then petting Morgana’s fuzzy head. “It’s good to see you guys. You wanna come in and see the place?” 

“I think you owe us an explanation,” Haru says, but lets herself be guided inside with the others. 

“No, you’re right, I do.” Akira scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’ll be quicker if I tell everyone about it all at once.” He glances at Goro. “You don’t have to stick around for it.” 

“I’ll be here if you want me to,” Goro says. 

Akira grins, warm and wide, shining like the sun itself. Goro really has no choice but to lean into that light. 

“How did I do?” Goro asks Akira later, as they’re cleaning up snack wrappers once the last Phantom Thief has gone home. 

A full contingent of the Thieves had descended on their new house, since by some unlucky coincidence they are all in Tokyo at the same time. They all seemed surprised to see Goro again—with the exception of Ryuji, of course—but most of them got over it pretty quickly. 

“I’m glad that Akira found you,” Yusuke had said, in a quiet moment, just the two of them lingering in the kitchen. “I didn’t think he would be happy again until he did.” 

Goro turns those words over in his head and wonders if they’re not only true for Akira, but for him as well. That without Akira his life would have been incomplete, indefinitely empty.

“You did great,” Akira says. “Thank you.” 

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Goro says, and he doesn’t just mean the many months he made Akira wait before announcing their relationship. But also the years and years spent apart. 

“It’s okay,” Akira says, like it’s a trivial thing. A minor obstacle for the clever Phantom Thief to bypass. 

“But your friends really are slobs,” Goro complains, as they finally get the last of the drink cans and cellophane wrappers tossed away. 

Akira laughs, bright and lovely, and Goro thinks if having the Phantom Thieves in his living space will make Akira this happy, he’d be willing to do it every day. 

Clearly he is losing his mind, and he barely cares. 

“Thank you for putting up with them,” Akira says, coming closer. “You’re so good to me. You always make me happy.” 

When Akira kisses him, it’s nothing like their first kiss. Then, it was frantic and desperate as though they were already losing each other and Goro wanted to hang onto every little second. 

Now, it’s slow and sweet and languorous, because they have time. Because for the first time in his life, Goro can see a future spooling out before him, and while he knows there will be difficult moments among the joyous ones, he will have Akira by his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter to go!


	17. Chapter 17

On Goro’s thirtieth birthday, he arranges three items on the coffee table in front of him. One slice of rich dark chocolate cake, a candle sticking out of the fudgy frosting. One steaming cup of black coffee. And the third item, an envelope with Akira’s name written across the front. 

He knows Akira will be home in about ten minutes, so he leaves the tidy arrangement for him to find. He doesn’t want to be there when Akira reads the letter, but he thinks Akira will understand. 

Instead he wanders Yongen-Jaya, stopping in to chat with the elderly man who runs the second hand store, greeting Tae when she steps out of the batting cages looking satisfied and relaxed. His feet carry him to LeBlanc, where he catches a glimpse of Sojiro flipping the sign to “Closed” and past the theater, now showing a romantic comedy Akira will doubtlessly drag him over to see. 

He thinks he has walked these streets so many times that his footprints, if still visible, would twine numerously through the alleyways, always leading him to Akira. Always leading him home. 

He thinks about the letter, which he has spent a month writing and revising, trying to organize his scattered thoughts and wild emotions into something he could share. After a lifetime of lying and hiding and deceiving, it’s not so easy to be vulnerable. 

But he wants Akira to _know._ He wants Akira to understand all of the jumbled and brilliant emotions he carries in his chest, even if most of the time he can’t bear to let them out. Even if sometimes he thinks the intensity of what he feels is more dangerous than anything they faced in the Metaverse. 

He’s getting better at letting thoughts like that go. At trusting Akira to catch him when he stumbles, at trusting himself to catch Akira in turn. 

He returns home as twilight falls over the city, shadows lengthening and blending into night. It smells like curry, like Akira, like home _._

The envelope lies open on the coffee table. Mercifully, the letter is nowhere to be seen, probably tucked away somewhere for Akira to keep. In the kitchen, Akira is stirring something simmering on the stove. 

“Hey,” he says, turning around. His eyes are red like he’s been crying, but he smiles wide enough to light the entirety of Tokyo. “I thought on your birthday I’m supposed to give _you_ a gift.” 

“You did,” Goro says. “I like the new bike a lot.” 

Akira laughs. “Thank you for the letter. I’m going to read it every day for the rest of my life.” 

Goro looks away, but amidst the discomfort he feels at displaying such blatant emotion, he’s also pleased to have made Akira so happy. 

“I’m not as eloquent as you,” Akira says. “But I feel the same way.” 

“Good,” Goro says, wrapping an arm around Akira’s waist and pulling him close. “Enough sentimentality. What are you making me for dinner?” 

“Curry,” Akira says, tugging him close for a kiss. “What else?” 

THE END

_Addendum: the letter_

_Dear Akira,_

_I confess it has always been a challenge for me to put into words the myriad emotions you make me feel. Once, I told you advancement could not occur without both thesis and antithesis. At the time, I hoped merely to impress you. Now, I believe it to be more true than I realized all those years ago. You are my antithesis, my other half. Without you, I stagnate._

_Everyone loves you. I don’t mean this as a complaint. I adore the way you are so kind to your friends, that you go out of your way to help strangers on the street. What I wish to say to you is that I love you more than they do. I never wanted you to solve my problems, to help me out of some dilemma. I merely wanted you_ . _I always have and still do._

_I love you. I know I barely say it enough, but you must understand that to love someone requires a great degree of stripping bare your own soul. It is a vulnerability that I am not comfortable with. Sakamoto tells me I need to get comfortable with it, but I should warn you it will take time, if it happens at all._

_Regardless, I do love you. Not because you saved my life, not because you solved my problems, but because of you—who you are, what you have become. I love you so deeply and madly I ache with it sometimes, and that is not to be melodramatic but simply so that you know the depth of my sincere emotion._

_On my twenty-ninth birthday I tried to kill myself. Now, as I turn thirty, I realize that for the first time in my life, I see a future for myself. I don’t want to die. I want to live, for as long as I can be by your side._

_Love always,_ _  
_ _Goro_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has followed this fic!! i started it when i started playing p5 royal and it's kind of stretched through my time in this fandom so far, so it's kind of special to me. your comments and kudos mean so much to me. thank you for reading <3


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